NOBLE and the Courier
by Aphrael1742
Summary: Halo/Fallout New Vegas Crossover- The Second Battle of Hoover Dam is over. The future of the Mojave Wasteland for the next decade has been decided. With all going well, the Courier is left free to pursue his remaining enemies. That is, he would have, if he had not been transported to Planet Reach. And the Covenant are coming.
1. Foreword

Before I post the first chapter, allow me to indulge in a brief foreword. To avoid repetition at the start, or end, of every chapter, I will divulge those information here. Definitions, however, vary from person to person, and such is probably the case with my description of what follows. If you have little patience for ramblings, by all means, move on to the story proper. However, please check what is listed here before comments are posted on the following writings.

For those who stayed…

I have never been one for writing fan fiction, for a simple reason- my fandom runs shallower than that of most people. I am a fan of Halo. The extent that this stretches is simply that of me purchasing the games, and reading up on any comments that I happen to come across. I do not actively seek after fluff like books, videos and other such materials, and so my knowledge of the Halo-verse, and, indeed, any other universes, are comparatively shallow. Within the following writings, discrepancies will undoubtedly be present. I simply ask that they be dealt with the proper respect. Corrections, of course, will always be welcome.

This work is a big step for me. In my opinion, crossovers are less than desirable. Sure, the Master Chief could be battling Chaos Space Marines, or Dovahkiin could be fighting Hobbes alongside the Hero of Bowerstone, but who's to say that the Master Chief couldn't crush Chaos Marines by stepping on them while trying to beat a Titan in a boxing match, or that the legendary Shouts of the Dovahkiin are not as a breeze to those tiny creatures? Surely the laws of different realities aren't always the same? Standardising these factors could help, but there is, as there always will be, another conundrum. Sure, if basic humans were all of the same size, then a writer's job would be much easier. Ezio, however, could not possibly slaughter the legions of Hell alongside the shotgun wielding, BFG totting super soldier (although that might be debatable), and Mammoth Tanks probably do not belong anywhere near Mordor (though that would be unbelievably cool).

However, through an _incredibly long _wiki walk, I inadvertently found myself on this site. More wiki walking, due to my lack of anything remotely resembling a life, I found myself staring at what was ostensibly a challenge. Throwing away all my reservations against a crossover fan fiction, I decided to take up the challenge, and thus leading up to this lengthy page.

Onward, then. I try to keep from making too many spelling or grammatical errors, but they do occur. Any corrections are always welcome, as well as opinions on the writing, especially criticisms. Notice on plot holes and errors in either Fallout or Halo universes will also be appreciated.

This ramble, however, is starting to bore me as well as you. So, without any further ado, the first chapter.


	2. The Courier

**Well, the very first chapter. Perhaps a little short; hopefully they'll get longer. We'll just wait and see.**

* * *

The Wasteland was as foreboding as always. Dust swirled around the base of the endless sand dunes, sifting over the destroyed road, a testimony not so much to time and the elements as opposed to the ferocity of the War, the War that had put an end to an age of flourishing civilisations. The waters of the Mojave might have been free of radiation, but that did not signal the rebirth of life. Indeed, as the sun scorched the baked earth, and heat caused land more than a few feet away to seem to shimmer, the Wasteland seemed more still, less alive than it used to be. The roving gangs of Fiends were almost gone, but so were most undefended human settlements. Almost all Wasteland predators had vanished, killed, but with them went the unlucky patrols that hunted them.

Amidst it all a lone figure strolled, pose casual, but eyes alert, constantly scanning the horizon, weapon ready. This was a man who had seen loss, and death. This was a man who had fought, and killed. This was a man who had survived. A shout from ahead caused him to instinctively hunker down, silently pressing his large frame into a convenient crevice in the endless stretches of sand, his armour blending in with the background. He looked up, and his annoyance was instantaneous. Of course it would be _them_. The scorched Wasteland may have claimed all life, and yet _they_ clung on, like the foulest of parasites. The man watched as the three squads headed east, and he tracked their progress. The squads moved on, headed towards a house, its ruined frame stark against the morning sun. Now, _that_ was convenient. The man set off toward the structure, trying to keep the squads in sight, in spite of his powered armour.

He was puffing slightly when he neared the ruined building. Brown was such an inconvenient colour for clothes of metal. The squads entered the remains of the house, and the man silently gave thanks to the Lady Luck. The man crouched behind a sand hill and waited for his signal. He did not have to wait for long. Gatling laser fire riddled the front of the building, and shouts from the legionnaires beyond told him that all was going well, for him, at least. The man leapt from cover, setting off for what had once been the backdoor to the building, plasma rifle sweeping the area before him. Then two of the squads burst through a crumbled side wall, and a brief disappointment filled him, disappointment that vanished when they turned instead toward the source of the gatling fire. He heard Boone's soft chuckle over the radio. 'Go!' the sniper shouted. 'I'll take care of these scum.' More laughter. The man was familiar with the adage of laughing in the face of danger, but he felt his usually stoic companion sometimes took it to extremes when fighting the Legion.

The man took out a couple of grenades and tossed them through the door. The explosions were quickly followed by two more. Then he went through, and activated his VATS system, taking note of enemy numbers and positions through the brief dust cloud. A squad of legionnaires, a centurion and his two bodyguards. This would not be a fair fight, even if the man had used a shaving razor. The man, however, did not care. They were Caesar's Legion, and they did not deserve a fair fight. His plasma fire turned one enemy soldier into a pile of sludge, and burned the armour of a second. Then the man heard music, like that on the noir holotapes he had once found. Behind his helmet, he grinned as a man in a coat and hat appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, his revolver already firing. The man had no idea how this stranger was able to seemingly materialise in the most impossible places and situations, but both he and his revolver were always welcome. The man snapped out of VATS, and began strafing, firing and reloading with the flawless efficiency of long practice. The armoured soldiers fell like scythed wheat, and so did his ammunition count. He took cover, and within a second, two discarded stimpacks lay at his feet, as well as five boxes of various snacks, and a doctor's bag, empty of its contents. The man looked at the Pipboy attached to his wrist. Health, full. Ammunition for Plasma rifle, three thousand. He shifted menus, and looked through his collection of weapons, deciding which guns to use. No point wasting his ammunition, vast though his collection was. Not even for this man. Finally, he spotted a very special toy he kept for such occasions as this. Of course. Why had he not thought of it in the first place? He shrugged. It was just as well time seemed to stop when he raised his Pipboy. He had a theory for the phenomenon, but it did not matter now. The man readied his weapon and rose from cover.

The Legion Centurion was starting to panic. When the man wearing NCR armour, carrying energy weaponry, had marched through the door, he had wished the order to send the attack squads to kill the Gatling Laser wielder had not passed his lips. It had been such an obvious distraction that he was surprised he had fell for it. But now it was too late. His soldiers had put up a good fight, and the officer had smiled in satisfaction when the hated Courier's left arm had been crippled. But the soldiers, for all their training and equipment, had lacked the advantage of numbers. When the Centurion's men lay dead around him, the Courier had taken cover. It gave the Centurion a breather, and he readied his Ripper, prepared to charge. Then the Courier stood up, and the officer stared at him in amazement. The man had taken cover for one heartbeat, with signed armour and a crippled arm. He came back out now, armour gleaming, crippled arm healed. Then training kicked in, and the Centurion sprinted toward his hated foe. He would be the one who will claim the man's head. He would return to a triumph. The Courier raised his weapon, and the Centurion found himself only a few feet from the incredibly large bore of one of the strangest weapons. The trigger was pulled, and there was a sound like someone getting hit in the head by a tin can. Out of the weapon, a pre-war teddy bear flew towards him. His charge stopped altogether when the toy hit him in the gut like the charge of a deathclaw, the impact of the bundle of cotton and cloth causing his knees to go weak, and his eyes to water. He raised his head, just in time to see the empty box of a pre-war snack barrelling straight at him. Then something else flew out of the weapon. This was absurd. The pre-war money should be fluttering about. He knew that; he had toyed with enough of them. Then the slip of paper hit him in the face. The mighty Centurion, undefeated in a hundred battles, fell to the ground, and the paper note drifted down forlornly to settle across his eyes.

Yes Man fired off another missile, scattering one of the crimson clad squad. Gatling laser fire from the customised robot killed one of the legionnaires. Another had his head blown apart by Boone. Red cloth and worse splattered on his charging comrades. The fight did not require much of Yes Man's processing, so he diverted some of it to the enigma known as the Courier. Sure, the man was vengeful, he was ruthless, and he left none of his enemies alive. But the Courier's definition of an enemy was strict. Mr House had tried to use the Courier. He was now a pile of ashes. Benny had shot the Courier, and legionnaires had shot _at _him, for wearing NCR uniform, no less. The man in the chequered suit had been turned into gobbets of flesh, and Caesar's legions had fared no better. The merciless acts, however, were not the defining trait of his character, Yes Man decided as he aimed a missile at the face of a charging legionnaire. The NCR, Brotherhood of Steel and the other factions who had helped in the Second Battle of Hoover Dam had various treaties with him, and the Followers of the Apocalypse had a second permanent base in what used to be the various casinos of the late warring tribes of Vegas. Now only the Omertas were left, kept under strict regulations and decrees. All in all, Yes Man concluded, the enigmatic man was not totally immoral. Merciless, yes, but not immoral, and almost definitely loyal. His opinion on the Courier settled for now, Yes Man returned his almost undivided processing capabilities to the battle. He did not seem to have missed much. Half of the legionnaires were dead, and another half of the remaining were crippled, to various levels of severity.

Then the securitron's sensors picked up a hint of music of a militaristic nature, and he tuned the securitron's sensors. An Enclave eyebot, polished to a shiny gleam, was zipping toward the legionnaires, blaring from its speakers the war track. So, the approaching squad of legionnaires were dead. Sturdy eyebot. ED-E flew close to the ground, and blue bursts issued from its gun. Laser or plasma, Yes Man had, as yet, not been able to find out, but it did its job. Legionnaires that escaped Boone's fire were reduced to smouldering piles of ashes under the fire of the two robots. One of the crimson clad warriors attempted to flee, and Yes Man went after him, easily keeping up with the running man, who had retreated into the house. The securitron's sensors picked up Boone shouting for him to return. 'Of course, sir,' he amplified in his usual cheery voice. 'I'll just let him go and hopes he dies from infection, which I'm sure he will.' Dutifully, the robot started to turn back, taking in, in a second, the piles of green sludge on the floor, the Courier, somehow managing to retrieve legion armour from them, the remains of the Centurion, whom the Courier had presumably dismembered, as was his custom. Yes Man also received visual image of the twin mines left behind by the fleeing legionnaire, one plasma, one pulse. They were also a few inches from the securitron's single wheel, and there was no way it could stop in time. In the robot's last moments, Yes Man unloaded as many missiles and grenades as was possible. The gatling laser spat out its last bursts, and the submachine gun emptied itself. The legionnaire was shredded, but his remains knew no rest, as the explosives reached their destination. Yes Man tuned its visual sensors to the Courier, who, he was glad to see, was crouching, one forearm raised to shield his face. The mines detonated.

* * *

**Author's Note: **New Vegas does not include a Rock-It-Launcher. The ammunitions have always been too amusing to pass up this opportunity, however.


	3. NOBLE Team

**Author's Note: **Well,here it is. It's been as long a wait for me as well. I have to say, converting a whole level into words certainly isn't easy. Whatever the case, here's, after a week, chapter 2.

* * *

The seat jolted as the face of UNSC ground operations hit yet another bump in the road. The Warthog drifted for some distance, bouncing around for a while, before quickly stabilising. The marine behind the wheel kept his attention strictly focussed on the road, ostensibly trying to keep the vehicle from flipping over. His passenger, however, knew from experience that the man was simply trying to avoid any sort of contact. The fact that he had been called away from his usual duties at the dock simply to drive his passenger for miles across little used roads to some remote outpost probably did not help matters either, and so the pair rode in abject silence, with only the soft humming of the vehicle's engines to accompany them. The Spartan did not care. Silence was welcome. Countless operations and battles had shown that noise usually meant trouble was near. And even here, on friendly territory, the instinctive aversion to any unpredicted sounds was still in gear. The Spartan sighed, and allowed herself a small smile as the marine casted an anxious, furtive glance at his passenger. The man was as tightly wound as she had been in her first close combat. She glanced down, and her reflection stared back at her from the golden visor of the helmet. The Spartan distinctly remembered Command contacting her, as was usual. Instead of another rebel organisation to eliminate, however, she had been assigned to Reach and, more specifically, to a group of Spartans. Command had instructed her to follow the orders she received on Reach. She had acknowledged her objectives. The transmission had been cut.

The fact that she was joining the squad as a replacement was not what was bothering the Spartan, however. It was the fact that she was even _assigned_ to a squad at all that was the cause of her distress. The Lone Wolf preferred solo missions. They allowed for covert operations and long ranged engagements. They gave one the opportunity for stealth attacks. The plans had to account for only the strengths and weaknesses of _one _individual. They had less chances of going awry. Certainly, the lack of firepower posed a great threat, but the Spartan had found that a precisely planted explosive or a well-placed bullet was usually capable of nullifying that particular problem. It was a testimony to the Spartan's skills that she seldom had to shoot her way out of a situation. Fervently, she wished for her new squad to include both a level-headed Commander and a competent sniper. She had, of course, perused the dossiers of the team, and what she saw had been interesting. Jorge was a SPARTAN II, which was distinctly favourable. A man who knew when to hold his trigger finger was a good man to have carrying the biggest gun. At least, that was how the Spartan viewed it. Carter seemed capable, able to adapt quickly; a good trait for a Commander. Jun, apparently, was good with a sniper rifle. SPARTAN B-312, however, postponed making a judgement on his skills, at least until she sees him in battle. It was, however, another Spartan- Emile- that caused her no small concern. His single-minded drive to, if possible, personally eradicate the Covenant would, she foresaw, cause problems in the future. She hoped he could keep his cool. The seat jolted again, and SPARTAN B-312 looked up, and turned her helmet around. The HUD flashed across her vision as the helmet once again sealed her off from the unfiltered air.

The Warthog skidded to a stop, and the Spartan climbed out, mud splashing across the white and blue-trimmed boots as they sank into the damp sod. It was only then that the Spartan realised exactly how remote this outpost was. Indeed, it could very well have been mistaken for one of the hastily erected command posts on the frontlines. The Lone Wolf started for the command tent, ducking to avoid the back of a Falcon transport. She noted in passing the occupant of the Falcon, a Spartan in olive armour, loading rounds into the magazine of a sniper rifle. Jun. She paused briefly at the entrance to the tent, allowing time for adjustment to the dim interior. A man in blue armour was standing at a table, receiving orders from Colonel Urban Holland through a holographic computer. Another, wearing a helmet with a skull carved into its visor, whom she assumed was Emile, was sitting, sharpening on his pauldron what SPARTAN B-312 recognised as a kukri, a weapon designed half a millennia ago. The Spartan shifted her weight, about to enter the room, when a prosthetic arm was thrust in front of her before she could take a step. The owner of the arm wore sky blue armour, short hair and a sour expression. She turned to the man in blue armour. 'Commander.' Carter turned to look at her, his expression mirroring Kat's.

'So, that's our new number six.' The voice was faintly derisive. The Wolf turned in its direction. The man wore bulky armour, one obviously modified for more protection, and his expression was just as cold as his voice had been. Jorge. Kat lowered her arm, and the newly arrived Spartan stepped forward, stopping in front of Carter. Emile turned to Kat. 'You read her file?'

'Only the parts that weren't covered in black ink.' Kat's tone was bitter, almost resentful.

Carter returned his attention to the computer. 'Anyone claimed responsibility, sir?'

'ONI thinks it might be the local insurrection.' Holland's voice issued from the speakers. SPARTAN B-312 was aware of the situation. Contact with Visegrad Relay had been lost. The trooper fire teams that were sent to investigate, declared MIA. 'Five months ago, they pulled a similar job on Harmony. Hit a relay to take out our eyes and ears, then stole two freighters from dry dock. That cannot happen here. Reach is too damn important.' He took a deep breath. 'I want that relay back online, Noble One.'

Carter nodded. 'Sir. Consider it done.'

'Then I'll see you on the other side. Holland out.'

Jorge grabbed his turret, and Emile sheathed his knife. The pair stood, and Carter took his helmet from where he had placed it next to the computer. He looked at the white and blue armoured Spartan before him. Her armour showed no hint of having ever been touched by incoming fire. 'Lieutenant.'

The Spartan snapped to attention. 'Commander, sir.'

Jorge and Emile moved toward the tent entrance, moving around her with that same dislike she had detected earlier. Kat joined them, and the trio walked to the Falcon transports. Carter nodded, acknowledging her gesture.

'I'm Carter, Noble team's leader.' Noble One. He nodded at the trio. 'Kat, Noble Two. Emile, Jorge, Four and Five.' And Jun would be Noble Three. 'You're riding with me, Noble Six.'

He led her out of the tent, putting on his helmet as he walked. He turned his head slightly. 'I'm not going to lie to you, Six, you are stepping into some shoes the rest of the squad would rather leave unfilled.' He glanced pointedly at the Spartans in the Falcons, before climbing aboard himself. 'Me, I'm just happy to have Noble back up to full strength. Just one thing.' He looked at her for a heartbeat while she settled herself into the remaining seat. 'I've seen your file, even the parts the ONI censors didn't want me to read. I'm glad to have your skill set, but we're a team. That lone wolf stuff stays behind, understood?' He leaned out of the Falcon, signalling the pilots to get airborne. He returned to his seat, and Noble Six nodded. 'Got it, sir.'

Jun turned to her. His tone was still that same derisive tone the rest of the team had used, but was tinged with what she thought was amusement. 'Welcome to Reach.'

The Falcons banked, skirting the mountain range. Carter's voice came over the radio. 'Listen up, Noble Team. We're looking at a downed relay outpost, fifty klicks from Visegrad. We're going to introduce ourselves to whoever took it out, then Kat's going to get it back online."

Noble Two looked over from the other Falcon. 'Just get me under the hood, Commander.'

Then Jorge spoke up. 'Sir, why would rebels want to cut off Reach from the rest of the colonies?'

'You get a chance, maybe you can ask them, Jorge.' Noble Six could hear the sarcasm in Carter's voice.

The land under them had begun to show signs of human habitation. Clearings in the vast forests grew increasingly frequent and, more often than not, were dotted with human structures. Then Kat's voice once again came over the radio. 'Commander,' her voice sounded worried. 'We just lost our signal with HQ.'

Carter looked sharply at her. 'Backup channels?'

Kat looked at the display in her hands for a couple of seconds. 'Searching... Nada. Can't say what's jamming us.'

In the distance, they saw the outpost, and the Falcons headed toward it. Carter's reply was calm, as if he was discussing the weather. 'You heard her. Dead zone confirmed. Command will not be keeping us company this trip.'

Emile shrugged. His remark was just as flippant. 'I'm lonely already.'

The Falcons reached the Outpost, and there they hovered, awaiting Carter's command. The Spartan addressed the pilots. 'Shoot down attempts are likely, so keep your distance.'

'Yes, Sir!'

Carter gave a slight nod. 'Let's stay focused. Watch your sectors.'

Jorge pointed to an immense structure across the mountain range. 'There's the communications outpost.'

Kat barely glanced at it. 'Reading a distress beacon.'

A waypoint flashed on the HUD of Noble Six, outside the single building of the outpost. 'Could be the missing troopers.' Carter's voice was level. 'Let's check it out.' Then, to the pilots, he instructed, 'Put us down on the bluff.'

The Falcons circled once, and descended. Carter glanced at Jun. 'I want your eyes in the sky.' The transports landed, and Carter immediately stepped out. 'Let's go, Six.'

She followed Carter out, and the two Falcons, one with Jun, the other with Jorge, rose into the air. 'Alright, Noble Team. Spread out. Watch the approach.' Carter's voice was crisp. The four Spartans jogged down the hillside. Halfway down, Emile jumped onto an outcropping of rocks, looking down at the outpost. 'Structure point 3-4, looks clear from this angle.' He leapt down from the rock, his shields flaring as he hit the ground. The other three Spartans went around the formation.

Kat slowed momentarily. 'Distress beacon's coming from just south of here, Commander. We're close.'

'Roger that. Eyes peeled, Spartans.'

They reached the outpost. Emile was rummaging around a pile of palettes next to a burnt out Warthog. He picked something out of the pile and tossed it to Kat. 'Found the beacon.'

Kat looked it over. 'No ID, but it's military.' She dropped it back onto the pile.

Jorge's voice came over the radio, tinged with a hint of bewilderment. 'So where are the troopers?'

Kat's reply was just as puzzled. 'Why are we not seeing explosives residue?'

Carter strolled to the entrance of the outpost. 'Noble Three, can you confirm any explosive residue in the area?'

'Negative, sir.'

Emile looked around restlessly. 'Plasma, maybe?'

'Can't be. Not on Reach.' Jorge's voice was adamant.

Emile looked around. 'There's a _lot_ of blood on the ground.' The three other Spartans looked at him, and he shrugged.

Carter took a final look around. 'All right, NOBLE, looks like there's nothing here. Let's move on.'

They had moved away from the outpost, and had been scouring nearby clusters of buildings for the last ten minutes. There were neither signs of the troopers nor the rebels. There were also no surviving civilians. Then Kat returned from another of her brief scouts. 'Smoke at the next structure, boss.'

Carter nodded. 'Circle west and check it out. Noble Team: you have permission to engage, but be selective. We don't need to telegraph a presence.'

The house in question overlooked a cliff. Noble Six and Carter moved to the doorway, entering the house simultaneously. As with all the previous structures, the house was free of life. Jun's tag flashed, and his voice came over the radio. 'Noble Leader, I'm seeing heat-signatures in the structure ahead!' The four Spartans moved through the house, coming out the other side. One of the structures flashed on Noble Six's HUD, and they moved towards it. One of the Falcons landed, and Jorge got off, turret at the ready. The five Spartans scanned the immediate area, and, satisfied there were no hostiles, advanced cautiously on the building. A door opened, and a man stepped out, and weapons were trained on him. Behind him, Noble Six counted three other civilians. The man was waving his arms in the air, and shouting in Hungarian. Jorge looked at Carter. 'They're not rebels, they're farmers. Look at them.'

Carter paused for a heartbeat before replying. 'Ask him what they're doing here.'

Jorge nodded, and spoke with the man for a few moments. He turned back to Carter. 'Hiding, sir. Neighbors were attacked last night. He heard screams, gunfire. It stopped around sunrise. He said something in the fields, killed his son.'

Carter's voice was incredulous. 'S_omething?_'

Jun's tag flashed again. 'Commander, be advised. I'm reading heat signatures at the structure directly east from your position.'

'Copy that.' He turned to Jorge. 'Get him back inside.'

The team moved towards the new waypoint. The scene in the building was revolting. There were a number of human corpses, messily gutted, some even ripped apart. Two armored troopers were pinned to the wall, and blood was splashed over the walls and floor. Carter knelt, and inspected the blood. Avian like footprints stood out in the blood. Carter stood. 'What do these look like to you?'

Emile's voice was almost a hiss. 'Damn them.'

Carter looked back at the Marines. 'There's nothing we can do. Let's move out.'

They entered another room, and there was another body. Emile adamantly refused to look at it. There was a sound from the ceiling, as if of footsteps. Her motion tracker picked up a contact, and Noble Six ran the last few steps out into an open courtyard, pulling out her pistol as she did so. She spun, and something flitted across her vision into an undergrowth. She fired off two shots, and the thing screamed as it collapsed, and she heard it thrashing on the ground for half a second before it died. Carter came out. 'Jun, what was that? Can't see anything from here.'

'Negative, sir. Foliage's too thick, can't make out anything.'

Emile came out of the house. 'I can tell you what that was. I'll be right, too.'

Carter looked at him, but Jun's tag flashed again before he could say anything. 'Boss, I see movement, outside your structure!'

Carter turned. 'Noble Two, move up to the west. We're about to be flanked.'

The Spartans ran to a pair of windows overlooking the outside of the structure. A Skirmisher was standing on a shack, and it began squawking the moment it saw them. A bullet from Noble Six's pistol silenced it. Then Jackals and Grunts came around the shack, and she pulled out her DMR, and took cover. Emile did not bother taking cover. He stood tall, firing his shotgun into the dense pack of Covenant troops. The fight did not last long. A grenade disrupted the shield wall of the Jackals as their frail bodies were ripped apart by shrapnel. Grunts, in general, did not make good infantry either. Half of their numbers fell to fire from the Spartans. The other half ran around aimlessly, wailing miserably. They fell when the Spartans engaged them in close combat. A pair of Banshee flyers posed some problem to the Spartans, but the nose-mounted guns on the pair of Falcons quickly eradicated that particular annoyance. Then a Spirit dropship flew in, and deposited more Grunts. The fight ended even more quickly than the previous one had. Carter looked around at the bodies of the diminutive aliens. 'Stand down, Noble, stand down. Contacts neutralized.'

**'**Contacts? It's the damn _Covenant_!' Jorge almost shouted.

Emile punched the giant on the shoulder. 'Cheer up, big man; this whole valley just turned into a free-fire zone.'

Carter turned to Kat. 'We've got to warn Holland. I need you at that relay outpost now.'

The team sprinted away from the structure. They soon reached a creek, and Jun shouted a warning. 'Boss, I'm showing more activity ahead of you!'

'Copy that, Jun, we're on it. Six, you've got point.'

The Spartans ran across, and Noble Six was already firing her DMR before the Covenant realized they were being attacked. Three Grunts had fallen by the time the Elites they were supposed to be backing up had gotten their Plasma Repeaters ready. Noble Six fired three more shots, and the remaining Grunts collapsed, their heads blown apart. The Elites turned their repeaters on her, and she slid behind a rock. Then the rest of Noble was there, and the Elites were grudgingly forced to retreat. One cried out in pain as its shields depleted, and it charged at Jorge, activating its Energy Dagger as it ran. The Spartan II brought his massive weapon to bear, and the Elite was ripped apart in mid-stride. The three remaining Elites, however, had time for their shields to partially recharge. They continued to fire their plasma weapons, and one of them kept its repeater and reached back, leveling a Concussion Rifle. Noble Six slid behind cover and activated her cloaking device. She heard a shout, and saw Emile rushing at the Elite with the launcher, reaching for his oversized knife even as he fired his shotgun. Six slid out of cover, a hum filling her ears as her shields recharged. She drew her combat knife and hurriedly crept around the Elites. The Elite with the Concussion Rifle was on its back, and its shields flared as Emile landed blows to its mandibles. His knife lay a few feet away, and Noble Six kicked it to him as she moved past. Another Elite was firing blindly as the rest of the Spartans concentrated their fire on it. Then its shields depleted, and it roared in outrage. Its head caved in as Jun placed a sniper round between its upturned mandibles. Noble Six neared the remaining standing Elite, and a grenade bounced to its right. It dived, and conveniently recovered directly in front of her. She reached around with her blade, swinging it into the mouth of the Elite. It thrashed, and she brought her arm down sharply. The alien fell, and she twisted the knife. The Elite stopped moving, and she pulled the blade out and looked around. Emile was also wiping his knife clean, and the others walked up. She turned her camouflage off. Jun's tag flashed again. 'Commander, I'm seeing more hostile activity to the North-East.'

Carter glanced around. 'Emile, you're with Kat. Six and I will run interference on the ground. We'll meet you at the outpost.'

The Falcon landed, and Kat and Emile entered the transport. Carter looked around. 'I see a flatbed Warthog. Let's move.'

Corporal Travis was getting more annoyed by the minute. He had been deployed in an eight man squad to investigate Visegrad for signs of Rebel presence. He was now trying not to get killed in a three man squad, facing the very real presence of Covenant. Travis had not been sufficiently prepared for the battle. The whole _squad_ had not been sufficiently prepared. They had grabbed their standard issue rifles when they were informed of their objectives. They should have brought rocket launchers instead. A Grunt waddled around the rock, and Travis swung his rifle, hitting the Grunt's methane tank. It ruptured, and the alien clawed at its throat, making tiny strangling noises. Travis picked up the dropped plasma pistol, and charged it. The inevitable Elite stepped around the rock, and he discharged the weapon. The Elite's shield collapsed, and Travis pulled out his pistol and emptied the clip into its mouth. Two Marines slid down the slope to him. 'There's a structure past a stream over the hill, sir. Looks like a barn of some sort. The wounded are there now.'

Travis nodded. 'Then let's get out of here.'

The barn was not perfect, but no fortifications were when the Covenant came knocking. Travis sat, leaning against one of the supporting pillars. He tuned his radio to another frequency, breathing deeply to bring semblance of calm into his voice, and broadcasted his message again. 'Mayday! Three-Charlie-Six, does anyone read? We were attacked by Covenant forces. The Covenant is on Reach. I repeat- the Covenant is on Reach.'

He sighed, and looked around him. Three troopers lay wounded. Two others had been taken by Elites. He had heard their screams over the radio. He had been glad when the communication line had fallen silent. He turned to the two other Marines. 'Get some rest. Gather up supplies. We'll have to hold this position until reinforcements arrive.' He turned away. _If _they arrive. An hour later, a Spirit dropship arrived, and Covenant troops disembarked. Travis swallowed, and tried his radio again. 'We're under attack, repeat; mayday, mayday, Three-Charlie-Six, we're under attack by the Covenant; I've got wounded; cannot hold this position.'

The Grunts were the first off, as per textbook Covenant troop deployment. They were also the first to start toward the squad, with a couple of Jackals close behind. Then there was a roar of engines, and a civilian Warthog ran off the track into the stream. The crushed bodies of Grunts lay in its wake. There were a chatter of a turret, and the Jackals fell, their frail bodies torn apart. Corporal Travis peered around the sheet of metal he was taking cover behind. The Warthog came into view, and the Marines visibly relaxed. Travis walked up to the vehicle. 'Spartans? Corporal Travis, Three-Charlie, sir. It's the Covenant-'

The Spartan nodded, getting out of the vehicle. 'We know, Corporal. Let's get you out of here.'

Five times Spirit dropships flew in. Five times the three Spartans left no Covenant alive. At the end of the half hour, Travis began to realize the Spartans lived up to their reputation. When the Falcon flew in, the banks of the stream were littered with Covenant dead. The Spartans helped the wounded onto the transport, and Travis took time to estimate the number of dead. As far as he could tell, the number of dead Covenant could have been easily split amongst three whole squads.

Carter waited until the transport flew away, then contacted Kat. She answered before he could ask a question. 'We're at the relay outpost. Door's locked. Mechanism's been flash-fused.'

The Falcon took off, and Carter glanced out. In the distance were mountains, exuding a serenity so total it was almost ethereal. 'Can you beat it, Kat?'

'I dialed up my torch, cut a way through. Going to take some time.'

'We're en route to your location.'

The Falcon reached the relay, and circled over the courtyard. Jackals and Grunts were laying fire onto the door Kat was working on. Emile and Jun were firing into the Covenant troops in an attempt to stem the flow, but there were too many of the aliens. Carter tossed a grenade down into the tightly packed Covenant. 'Drop us in the courtyard.'

'LZ's a little hot, sir-'

'Put her down, pilot.'

The arrival of the Spartans tipped the firefight in favor of the humans, and the aliens were quickly routed. Carter lowered his rifle. 'How we doing, Kat?'

'Taking a little longer than I hoped, Commander. I've cut about halfway through the door.'

Emile looked up, and ran to cover. 'Contact!'

'Hold them off until Kat can hack the controls.' Carter's voice was dry.

An Elite charged Noble Six, and she hurriedly sidestepped. Her elbow made contact, catching the Elite in the back as it went past. Its shields flickered and went down. At that distance, it was impossible to miss. She pulled to trigger of the DMR once, and Grunts ran about in circles, squealing in terror as the Elite went down. It was the fifth wave of troops, and Noble Six had been forced to use her knife to conserve ammunition more often than she would have liked. Another ship came, and another Elite ran at her, firing its plasma rifle. The predictability of the enemy seemed to be the only advantage the Spartans had. She took out a scavenged plasma pistol. The overcharged shot scrambled the shields, and the Elite went down as quickly as the previous one had.

Then Kat shouted, 'Got it!'

Carter moved back, firing his rifle as he did so. 'Everybody, inside! Now!'

The Spartans moved into the room, and the door ground shut. Emile lowered his shotgun. 'Shame. That'd have been a great fight if it were longer. The action was very disappointing.'

Carter shrugged. 'We need to find the control room. From there, Kat can get the relay back online. Emile, post here. If we flush any hostiles, they're yours. All right, let's do this.'

The team moved deeper into the structure, and Noble Six took cover at the corner of a left corridor. Kat leaned on the wall next to her. 'Control room. Go easy.'

Noble Six turned around the corner, and lowered her rifle. In front of the controls was a body. Kat came behind her. 'Search that body.' She moved to the controls. Instantly she threw her hands up. 'Plasma damage.'

Next to a door was a wounded trooper. The man was slumped against a wall, and his arm was bound. The bandage, and the surrounding clothes, were stained a deep red. Carter knelt next to him. 'Where's the rest of your unit?'

The trooper grunted as he struggled to look at the Spartan. 'We got split. I don't think they – It sounded bad on the comms.'

'All right, Corporal, stay put. We'll get you a combat surgeon.'

Noble Six looked back to the body on the floor. He was wearing a lab coat. Noble Six reached out, and turned him over. A data module fell out of his coat pocket. She picked it up. 'Found something.'

Kat snatched it out of her hand. 'I'll take that, Six. Not your domain.'

Six stood, and looked around. Jorge was crouching. Then he reached into a gap in the wall. 'I've got a live one over here. Come on, out you come.' The young woman, seeming barely a year younger than Six, was struggling and screaming even while Jorge was dragging her out. She finally calmed herself enough to gasp three words in Hungarian. Jorge frowned, reaching for his turret. 'Who're still here?'

Almost immediately, an Elite Field Marshall landed next to him. Jorge released his turret, ducking under the swing of the Elite's Energy Sword. The Spartan grappled with the Covenant warrior, keeping it away from the civilian. The Elite managed to break its arm free, and Jorge had to step back to avoid the sizzling weapon. The alien turned to Six, and roared. Behind it, two more Elite Zealots landed. Jorge took a step back, and then he turned. Grabbing the civilian, he led her away. Noble Six smiled, and fired her rifle. She heard Carter calling to Emile. 'We've been engaged!'

The Marshall swung its sword at Kat, cutting a sizzling path through the air where her head had been barely a second before as Carter pushed her out of the way. The last shot from her DMR finally collapsed the shields of the Elite, and it turned away from Carter, running for the door where the trooper was. She dodged its sword as it went past, and her rifle fell from her grasp. She reached for her pistol, and scrambled to her feet. A growl came from behind her, and she turned. A heartbeat later, she was pinned to a wall, the Elite Zealot's hand around her throat. It extended an energy dagger. Her fist connected with its mandibles, and its shields flared. The Elite raised its arm again. Then Carter was there, and the Elite was thrown off. Carter was aiming kicks and blows at the alien, and a flaring around it indicated a rapidly failing shield. Kat emptied her pistol, and the Elite roared as its shields flickered and went down. Carter kicked her DMR to her. Six grabbed it and turned, to see the pair of Zealots at the door, one holding the trooper in front of it. Noble Six aimed. The bullet hit the Zealot in the side of its helmet, and it growled. Dragging the trooper along, the pair turned and ran. Jorge brought the civilian out as Emile's tag flashed.

'That one blew past me. Permission to engage?'

Carter lowered his rifle. 'Negative. Stay at the door. Two, handle the girl. Five and Six, clear the hole.'

Six reloaded her rifle, following Jorge through the doors. There were machinery and vehicles lining one wall. The other had fuel tanks. Jorge threw a flare to the other end of the room in an attempt to draw out any Covenent, and a Zealot stepped out, carrying a Concussion Rifle. Along its helmet was an ugly dent. Grunts and Jackals ran toward the Spartans. Noble Six hurled a couple of grenades at the tanks, and fired her rifle at the Elite. Then the grenades detonated, and with them went the tanks. The Grunts and Jackals were sent flying as the blast killed them. Six took cover behind a corner, taking the opportunity to reload her rifle. Jorge did not flinch, and neither did his turret falter in its deadly fire. He advanced on the Elite, the gun spewing its continuous death. Explosive shots from the Concussion Rifle landed near him, and he made no sound. They hit him, and his shields flared, but they did not break his step. The Elite's shield was the first to collapse. It tried to roll out of the way, but fire from Jorge's weapon hit its armor, and it stumbled. Then Jorge was beside it. He slammed his weapon into the Elite's head as it recovered from its stumble, and it grunted, losing its footing. The Concussion Rifle fell to the floor. The Elite raised its head, and found the barrel of Jorge's turret only inches away; once more it heard the weapon's death chant.

Noble Six walked up to Jorge. The big man nodded. 'There's more.' She turned, and saw the Grunts. The diminutive aliens took one look at the two Spartans and the dead Zealot and immediately began wailing in terror. A plasma grenade cut the milling short. The two Spartans proceeded down the corridor. A ramp led down into a room packed with equipment, probably for communication.

Jorge looked around. 'There's more. Flush them out, I've got you covered.'

A handful of Grunts waddled out of a doorway. None made more than two steps. Then she saw a flash of light. An energy sword. She readied a plasma grenade, and stepped out. The Elite charged as soon as it saw her. She primed the grenade, and it stuck on the Elite even before it took a step. She fired a few shots from her rifle, and turned, running at Jorge. At the last moment, she dived. The Elite, shields still down, was met with a storm of bullets. Not even its armor was able to offer much in the way of protection. Its torso was ripped apart, and blood and worse sprayed on the floor as the mutilated body fell.

Jorge helped her up. 'Noble Five reporting. Contacts neutralized.'

'Kat needs you to reset a junction. Do it and get back up here.' A waypoint flashed on her HUD.

Carter peered over Kat's shoulder. 'How long?'

**'**Question of my life. If the question is when will this station be back online, two weeks, earliest. This is plasma damage. All major uplink components are fried.'

**'**Two minutes is too long,' Carter protested.

Kat's voice was patient, as if explaining a simple concept to a child. 'Which is why I'm splicing into the main overland bundle to get you a direct line to Colonel Holland. You're in my light, Commander.'

Carter turned to Jorge. 'Find out what she knows.'

The young woman they had rescued earlier was sitting against a wall, hugging her knees. Jorge touched the civilian on the shoulder, and Emile scoffed as she shrugged his hand off. The big Spartan settled for crouching next to her. 'What's your name? Do you live around here?' He removed his helmet, and spoke in Hungarian.

Her reply was laconic. 'Sára.'

**'**Your accent sounds familiar. Sopron?'

**'**Tengeri.'

Jorge looked at the body in the white coat. 'Friend of yours?'

**'**Father.'

He looked at her. 'I'm sorry.'

She looked sharply at him. 'Why would you be?' Her voice was bitter.

Emile looked to Six. 'Big man forgets what he is sometimes."

Jorge stood, and leaned in close to Emile. Anger was plainly evident in his voice. 'She just lost her father.' He turned to Carter. 'She needs a full psychiatric workup.'

Emile turned slightly. 'She's not the only one.'

'Lock it down, both of you! Get her on her feet. The body stays here.'

Jorge nodded. 'Thank you, sir.'

Jorge walked past Emile, pausing briefly to glare at him. Then he helped Sára on her feet.

Kat signaled to Carter. 'Signal. It's patchy, but it's there.'

'I'll take it.'

'Best not touch anything. You wouldn't want to ground this place.'

Holland's voice came through amidst the static. 'I'm barely getting you. What's your situation, over?'

'Colonel, this is Noble One. There are no rebels. The Covenant are on Reach. Acknowledge?'

'Come again, Noble One? Did you say Covenant?'

'Affirmative. It's the WINTER CONTINGENCY.'

'May God help us all.'

The Falcons landed, and NOBLE Team disembarked as the rotors whirled to a halt. Kat caught up to Carter. 'Holland requested a full debriefing.'

Carter grunted, and reached up to pull his helmet off as the six Spartans reached the large, heavily patrolled structure. Carter estimated nearly a double in Marine numbers. The interior was no better. Turrets had been set up in nearly every possible, and some not quite possible, locations. The usual banter that soldiers customarily utilized to while away the long hours of guard duty were soft, even strained. High ranking officers walked from squad to squad in their spare time, joining in the exchanges in attempts to keep morale at marginally safe levels. The commander of the Spartan team also noted an increase in supply frequency. Amidst the rations and medical equipment lay heavy weaponry. They brought more shine to the Marines' faces than the officers did. Only the sergeants were steadfastly unchangeable. They pushed their squads for vigilance, pinning the safety of the planet on the shoulders of each Marine. They poked fun at the bravery of the troopers, stressed the importance of Reach. Objectives were detailed, drills ran through; these were, more often than not, punctuated and emphasized with descriptive, colorful and oft-times imaginative euphemisms, comparisons and the occasional abuse. The Spartans walked past an exit. Outside, machines and weapons were checked, tested, repaired. Adjustments were made, and they were tested again. Scorpion tanks left track marks all over the sod; engines rumbled to life, and the whining of aerial crafts filled the air. Reach, if this base was any indication, was unsubtly preparing for war.

The thick door slid open, the hissing it emitted giving no indication of its weight or reinforced bulk. It seemed to Noble Six as if each rank the base held had made some contribution to this room. Generals rubbed shoulders with Sergeants, and Marine personnel held lengthy conversations with their Navy counterparts. Intelligence was given, information swapped; yet the bustle was controlled, organized. Individuals stared at the Spartans as they made their way across the room, faces bearing the same mixed expression of awe and relief that the Marines outside had shown. The armored soldiers walked up to one of the computers and waited, staring idly at the displays.

'Stay away from that, Noble Two. I'm not taking any chances with you.' The Spartans turned and snapped to attention. Colonel Holland dismissed their salute with a waved hand. 'No time for formality, Spartans.' He jerked his head. 'Give these two gentlemen a brief account of your last mission so they can start giving out orders.'

Carter nodded curtly. 'Visegrad Relay.' He shrugged. 'There's not much to tell. We thought they were rebels. Turned out to be Covenant. There were Elites. Ultras, Zealots.' Briefly he described their mission. When he was done, he looked at the three men. 'We saw no ships, but I recommend stepping up defenses, as well as the MAC grids.'

Holland nodded. 'If this advance party was responsible for what happened to Visegrad, the Covenant fleet – and its army – will not be far behind.' The two other men nodded and went away to relay orders.

It was a tingling sort of feeling, as if her shields had been struck. But her shields were not activated. Noble Six's instincts kicked in, and she reached back and unclipped her DMR, noticing the other Spartans doing the same. She powered up her shields, sweeping the room with her gun. It was testimonial to the discipline of those present, as well as their trust for the Spartans, that none panicked. Pistols were drawn, and the squad of Marines in the room leveled their various weapons, scanning the room for threats. Dimly, she heard Holland calmly requesting for backup. Two squads of Marines rushed through the door, rifles already leveled. There was a sizzling sound in front of them, and they halted, training their weapons on the spot. There were at least two more squads outside, then. That was good. The Spartans advanced, weapons at the ready. Then the sizzling sound stopped, and there was a brief flash of light, and a sound akin to multiple detonations. Where the source of the light had been, there was now a man, on his hands and knees, gasping. He was wearing a brown duster of stiff leather. Under the duster was armor, much like those worn by the average police squads when putting down a budding riot. He made a move to stand, and Noble Six saw a helmet on his head, with a red visor and gas mask, even as her weapon joined everyone else's in the targeting of the man.

For all his luck, the Courier decided, a good simple plan always seems to have a tendency to turn sour on a dime. A simple trek across the Mojave to settle a score with Benny had flung him into the middle of a three way war. He conceded that _that _particular adventure had, in fact, turned out well. This, however, seemed even more unlikely to do so. How, he wondered as he was escorted to a secure room, had a simple plan to kill a Centurion and his troops ended up with him on an alien planet, with such hostile inhabitants? Had Lady Luck deserted him? He realized the answer to that question immediately. He could, of course, have ended up somewhere where English was not spoken, where the inhabitants were not human, or where they had shot him on sight. The Courier shuddered, and conceded that he had, in fact, been lucky. Fervently wishing for it to end as well as the previous one had, the Courier looked around. He was in a complex of some kind, with reinforced walls. The ground outside was not the blasted earth of the Wasteland. Wherever he was, it most definitely was _not _home. He studied the armor of his escort. There seemed to be three main types. Most troops seemed to be wearing green armor. Basic equipment for the average trooper. The other two were difficult to identify. They covered their wearer more completely, much like his Ranger combat armor. The group in front of him wore black armor, obviously more reinforced than the green armors. Elites, he surmised, which would place them in the same territory as the NCR Rangers. The group behind him proved more difficult to categorize. They were obviously tagging along out of curiosity, and no one saw fit to stop them. Each set of armor seemed to be completely customized, from parts to colors. If the black armored soldiers were the Ranger equivalent, then these soldiers were Rangers with Brotherhood training and equipment. He amended the thought. These soldiers had, as evident in their armor, equipment which were more advanced, more sophisticated, than those utilized by the Brotherhood. He did not think the Brotherhood _had _armor so sleek as to be able to tell, in a glance, whether the wearer was male or female. Considering the level of customization, however, this difference was, in all probability, only exclusive to this squad. They were also incredibly _tall_. The courier was by no means a short individual. He usually towered almost a head over everyone, but these soldiers, he found, were able to look into his visored eyes without difficulty, with the sole exception of one, who had to _lower_ his head to do so. The Courier knew enough to suspect that their largeness was not entirely natural._ His _own size, after all, was, in part, due to an implant by Doctor Usanagi. The other soldiers also seemed to view them with something close to _awe_. Idly, he wondered what sort of training they had to go through. What missions required soldiers like these? Then a chilling thought came to him. What sort of enemies were these humans fighting to require soldiers like these?

They stopped outside an interrogation room, which was bare to the point of severity. He went in, and the door slid shut behind him. Briefly he considered escape, but the memory of the tall armored soldiers quickly dissuaded him of that course of action. He had barely enough time to get seated when a man in olive garb walked in, followed closely by one of the armored soldiers. The Courier allowed himself a small smile. The situation he was in had brought back memories of Silus at Camp McCarran. He had succeeded then in his role as interrogator. He will not fail now. He straightened a little as the man introduced himself as Holland. The other soldier was Carter. Holland seated himself. Almost idly, he steepled his fingers, peering at the Courier over them. 'So, tell me this. How many like you do the Insurrectionists have?'

The Courier did not reply. Obviously, this man assumed that he was a part of this rebel organization. Behind his helmet, he briefly closed his eyes. The brief glances of the room in which he had first been transported to after the explosion, and the outside of the building, had been scenes of preparation for a heavy battle. Were the Insurrectionists about to attack this base? Did Holland mistook him for a saboteur of some sort? Holland continued with the questioning, as if the silence did not bother him. The man asked him about something he called the Spartan Program. He asked what the Insurrectionists knew about something called the Covenant. It all made little sense and, for the first time, the Courier found himself unable to reply. Holland waited an instant for a reply. He didn't get one. The Colonel rose and, followed closely by Carter, walked out of the room. The Courier was annoyed. He needed information, and resolved to obtain it from Holland when the man returns.

The Spartans gathered outside the room, silently watching the man inside. Carter turned to Holland. 'Sir, if the Insurrectionists are attempting to duplicate the Spartans, there could more like him. The Insurrectionists could be responsible for Visegrad, after all. We might have to watch for Human as well as Covenant ships.'

Holland looked at him for a heartbeat, and shook his head. 'No. The Covenant is a greater threat. However, I _do _want to know how the Insurrectionists are training these soldiers. I want to know how they came across those armors.' he hesitated. 'I want to know how they came to possess a teleportation device. And we don't have much time left to find the answers to those questions.' He swore. 'That helmet certainly poses a huge problem, and I don't think he'll volunteer to remove it.'

Kat raised her head. 'Why don't we mask the interrogator, then?'

Holland's voice was dry. 'I understand your enthusiasm at that idea, but I think we need a better one than me wearing a balaclava.'

'I had another candidate in mind, Colonel. It seems our newest member had past experiences with interrogation work, with some rather-' she paused, groping for the right word. '-interesting techniques, and results. Now, I could be wrong-'

'But you don't think you are.' Holland squinted at her, and nodded. 'We'll give it a try.' He turned to Noble Six. 'We'll stay out here and let you know what information to get from him. Jorge, Emile, go with her.'

Emile turned his head slightly as he walked past Kat. 'Only the parts that weren't covered in black ink?'

Kat shrugged. There was nothing else she needed to say.

The door slid open again, and the Courier looked up. Instead of Holland, however, three of the tall soldiers walked in. The two men stood by the door, and the woman walked up to the table. The Courier had an enormous sense of curiosity, which often overrode caution. This was one such occasion.

'Who exactly _are _you people?'

The woman sat, and tilted her head slightly. 'United Nations Space Command.' Her voice was light, lilting, giving it an almost musical quality.

'That's not what I meant.'

'I know.' She leaned forward, and his helmet reflected in her visor. 'So, mind telling me about your involvement at Visegrad?'

'If you are referring to me, I wasn't there. Never heard of the place, until now. If you're talking about the rebels, I don't know them. Never heard of them until now.'

'You've never heard of the rebels? I hardly find that convincing.'

'You're twisting my words.'

'I know.'

The Courier was thinking very quickly. This woman was capable, and she seemed to be able to keep up with his enhanced intellect. He needed answers, however, and, before the woman got another chance to ask another question, he spoke. 'Why are you afraid of the rebels, when the UNSC possess soldiers of your caliber?'

'Spartan ranks are not what they once were. We are no longer able to protect every single asset from petty theft and raids by terrorists.'

The Courier smiled. Spartans. The UNSC was weakening, and the Insurrectionists were essentially raiders. Almost like the NCR and Fiends back in the Wasteland. Two pieces of information, just like that. It was almost too easy. In the Courier's defense, however, it should be noted that the shock of his new environment had somewhat disorientated him. Overconfidence had also gotten him into trouble more than once. And so it was that he wondered, idly, if there was an enemy the UNSC had that would make this war parallel to the one in the Mojave, without giving a second thought to the ease of which he obtained the first two pieces of information.

'Tell me, Spartan. Do you have an enemy that the troops are afraid of? Perhaps they seem to have an endless number of soldiers?'

'You haven't heard of the Covenant?'

The Courier inwardly groaned. Another three way war. And he was again caught in the middle. The Spartan tilted her head. 'How do you not know of the Covenant?'

'I'm not from here.' He deliberately kept his reply short.

She nodded. 'And the teleportation?'

He chuckled. 'In a way, I suppose it could be called that.' He had almost all the information he immediately needed, save one. Keeping his voice casual, he asked, 'Don't you have one like that?'

'Not exactly. No one has been through slipspace outside of a ship. At least no human had. I don't know about the Covenant.' So the Covenant are not human.

'This Covenant. Are they attacking this base, or are you preparing for a rebel attack?'

'Both. We aren't sure which. You, however, I'm sure you do.'

'Then you're starting to get rusty, Spartan. Too many deaths on your hands, you're already starting to lose what's left of your humanity.' He did not continue. He did not need to. She did not reply, and the silence soon grew oppressing. He made no effort to break it. Then she abruptly stood and stalked out. The other two Spartans followed her.

'Thanks for the information, Spartan.' The Courier smiled, leaning back in the chair. He had not lost his touch.

Carter watched Noble Six as the door slid shut behind her. Kat walked over. 'Good work, Six.'

Noble Six looked at her. When she spoke, there was no trace of the apparent anger and indignation she had displayed in the room. 'His technique's a little unusual.'

'And yours isn't? That might have been one of the most unorthodox interrogation since contemporary techniques were published.' Carter had been around Kat long enough to hear the trace of amusement in her voice.

Holland looked to the two women. 'What did you two pick up?'

Six turned. 'He is definitely not affiliated with the rebels, sir.'

'And how did you come to that conclusion by giving him all that information?'

Kat spoke up. 'Subtle signs, Colonel. Those questions, and his ignorance of the situations, are genuine. Him growing less wary was a definite bonus, though.'

'As long as you're sure. Let's go in, then. I want to know how he got here.'

The Spartans followed Holland, and the man looked up as they entered. The colonel went to him. 'If you aren't a rebel, and I'm giving you the benefit of doubt on that score, where did you come from?'

The man shrugged. 'Certainly not from here. There was an explosion. I think it opened a portal, somehow. I haven't figured out how _that _would work, as yet.'

Then Holland put a finger to his earpiece. He listened for a moment, and his face turned grave. 'Sword Base is under attack. Spartans, I want you there.'

The man looked up, more sharply than was probably normal. She turned her external speakers off. 'Sir, requesting permission to bring the prisoner along.' Holland shot her a questioning look. 'Call it a hunch, sir.'

The Colonel looked dubious, but he slowly nodded. 'He's your responsibility, Spartan.' To the man, he said, 'You're going along with them.' He moved toward the door. 'I hope you know what you're doing, Noble Six.'

* * *

**Postscript: **That'd been a long time coming. Perhaps the chapter is a little disappointing, perhaps not. As always, reviews, criticisms and all those other things are welcome.

I have tried, as much as was possible, to follow the plot and dialogue of the mission. Before fans start correcting the lapses and mistakes, however, most discrepancies are deliberate.

From here on in, we diverge from the campaign. How will things turn out, plot and writing wise? I guess we will have to wait and see...


End file.
